


There’s nothing wrong with me (loving you)

by intravenusann



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: (but not really omorashi), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Birth Control, Bodily Fluids, Cock Piercing, Dildos, First Time, Foot Fetish, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mentions of Prostitution, Multiple Orgasms, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omorashi, Past Child Abuse, Penis Size, Rimming, Weird Biology, Wet & Messy, mentions the possibility of mpreg but there is no mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-01 21:34:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11495190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intravenusann/pseuds/intravenusann
Summary: When Credence — who has been living with the Goldsteins for six months now — learns that Mr. Graves feels ill, he does whatever he can to make sure the man is… comfortable. (alpha!Graves/omega!Credence)





	There’s nothing wrong with me (loving you)

Something is amiss.

Credence felt unwell earlier in the week, with a persistent headache and a gnawing hunger that not even Queenie’s cooking could sate. Now, Tina comes home for dinner and tells him that Mr. Graves is unwell — sick enough to have called away from his work.

“Everyone’s really worried about him,” she says. “I mean, before… everything, he was never sick.”

“You can’t expect the man to be a marble statue, Teenie,” Queenie says. She’s only trying to reassure her sister.

“I don’t!” Tina insists. “It’s just… It’s hard not to worry.”

Credence was feeling better yesterday, when he visited Mr. Graves, and the man seemed well also. But he can’t say that he knows the man even as well as Tina might. They have coffee or tea on Sundays. Credence reminds himself regularly that the man he believed to be Mr. Graves was never that man. The genuine article tells Credence that he feels “a certain obligation to right the wrongs done in my name.”

Therefore, he has invited Credence into his home — a place that the other Mr. Graves, a criminal and a deceiver, never brought him — each week. They speak about magic, usually.

One day rather recently, Credence had asked about the work that Mr. Graves does and the pair of them spent more than five hours in the man’s parlor while he explained the nature of the Congress and its founding. There were a great many Graveses involved in the telling, from Gondulphus to Gammon.

“I had an older sister Gwenevere and I suppose my parents felt that was sufficient to meet the obligation,” Percival Graves had told him, laughing.

Credence never intends to ask what became of the older Graves sister. He’s clever enough to know what the man meant when he said he _had_ a sister. Credence _had_ two sisters.

Now, he has a sharp, cold feeling in his chest whenever he thinks about sisters.

Which is quite often, since he has lived the past six months in a small apartment with the Goldstein sisters. He is lucky enough to have that, he supposes. The building that Mrs. Esposito oversees is for married couples and single women and omegas only. The apartment had belonged to Tina and Queenie’s parents before they passed. It was deemed a suitable place for Credence as well.

He tries not to think too much about what might have become of him if he hadn’t been put under the guardianship of Tina Goldstein.

“I think Limus and Picquery see it as a punishment,” she had said once, “but I couldn’t be happier at the way things turned out, Credence.”

Of course, she said that before the ordeal of Credence’s — well, Newt had said it was a heat but Tina had called it a cycle. Credence calls it an ordeal. Yes, he had experienced it before as well as watched Chastity suffer in the same way more than once.

But in the Goldstein’s apartment — in this life where there is always breakfast in the morning and dinner in the evening, where there is magic used as easily as one breathes, where Credence fears he is happier than he deserves to be — it had been very different than before.

He had learned a great many things and the Goldsteins still served him breakfast and dinner on each of the three days that it had lasted. Newt even brought him a sandwich in the middle of the first day, after Credence had taken over Newt’s own bed in his own shack in his own suitcase and refused to come out from under the sheets.

Newt had told him that it was rare for male omegas like the two of them to go through heat more than once a year, whereas a female omega might experience the same thing three to six times a year. It was nothing to be ashamed of, in his eyes. He had said that alphas, both male and female, also experienced their own heats and even betas experienced “an ebb and flow of hormones — that’s the new term for it, they’re very recently discovered — related to reproduction.”

Now, it’s been many months since Credence’s ordeal; the winter turned into spring and then summer. Newt has long ago returned to England — though he stayed for much, much longer than he had intended to, by his own admission, but wrote in his first letter to Credence that he couldn’t regret being able to get to know him.

Credence waits until they have finished dinner to ask, “Would it be alright if I visited Mr. Graves?”

“Didn’t you just see him yesterday?” Tina asks. “I don’t want you to bother him if he’s sick.”

“I won’t,” Credence says. “But I could check on him.”

Her eyebrows tilt in a particular way that Credence has learned means she’s thinking about it.

“You could take him some of the soup I made,” Queenie offers.

Tina’s consideration turns into a hesitant smile. “That’s not a bad idea.”

She escorts him to the building where Mr. Graves lives herself, with her hand gently touching his elbow.

“I think,” Credence says, holding a Dewar bottle of soup and a small loaf of bread that’s been wrapped up in a checkered napkin, “if he’ll invite me in, I might spend the night.”

“Are you sure about that?” Tina asks. Her eyebrows twist up with concern — but also skepticism, Credence recognizes.

Credence’s shoulder tense up closer to his ears.

“No,” he says, “but… I’ll offer.”

“Alright,” Tina says, still looking unsure. Credence shares the feeling.

“If he keeps you late,” she says, “don’t let him kick you out into the street. You have a curfew.”

“I know,” Credence says. He’d spent the night at Percival Graves’ home before — on that day they spent hours and hours talking of history. It had been too late to send Credence home on his own. The guest quarters that Mr. Graves kept, though sparsely furnished and rather dusty, had been larger than the whole Goldstein tenement.

“Well,” Tina says. “Tell him I hope he feels better soon.”

“I will,” Credence promises before he heads into the elevator.

With magic, there’s no need for an attendant. He is alone. Credence has many, many floors of apartments to pass and all that time to think.

He considers stopping the elevator and heading back down to the first floor — right up until the bell rings. When the door opens, Credence pushes the gate aside with his hand rather than magic.

A part of him, the part that presses him forward now, worries that Percival is ill because of him. Credence had insisted on their Sunday meeting without even warning the man that he had been feeling unwell. But Credence had been loathe to miss their appointment. And it was not a serious thing. It was nothing as simple as a cold, of course, but it was not so bad.

It was only a headache. Well, he had also had a bit of a fever and this floating sort of pain that travelled from his elbows to his gut and down his tailbone and legs. For most of a day, It had felt like his skin had been cut open and stitched shut too tight.

He also had been short-tempered the whole week and constantly hungry. And when he wasn’t tired or hungry or jaw-clenchingly furious over nothing, he had been lost in his usual flights of fancy. It was the kind of thing that would have brought him a lot of trouble once in his life. Now, it just made Queenie laugh. Tina hardly even seemed to notice.

She was, herself, prone to moments of confusion where Credence might start a conversation when she walked into the kitchen and she would say, “What? Oh, sorry, hello Credence.”

But Credence doubted that Tina thought about the kinds of things in her moments of distraction that Credence thought in his.

Even if he isn’t to blame for Mr. Graves’ illness, he is certainly guilty of something. And even if he hasn’t exposed Mr. Graves to some sickness, then he still owes the man for trying to right the wrongs he perceives in Credence. Not that he could ever find the words to explain that what is wrong with him did not begin with the man who wore Mr. Graves’ face.

Maybe the reason he is here at the man’s door is simply that he so enjoys the company of the real Mr. Graves.

A nervous, eager energy runs in his veins. If he was unwell before, now he feels well — almost too well. However, if he can temper the bubbling, buzzing darkness within him then he can also turn this altogether brighter thing into something of use.

Credence feels the weight of all his past and present upon his shoulders as he lifts his hand to knock on the door.

He hears the locks slide loose and the door opens itself.

Percival Graves stands on the other side with a smoking jacket over his shirt and waistcoat. He has slippers on his feet. He looks at Credence with wide eyes.

“Credence?” he asks. “Is it —”

He stops and rubs his face with one hand. Credence remains on the other side of the threshold, clutching the bottle of soup and the loaf of bread.

“Please come in,” Mr. Graves says, waving the hand that was just upon his mouth.

Credence steps carefully. The door closes quietly behind him.

“Miss Tina heard that you were ill,” Credence says. “I thought I might check on you, since you seemed well yesterday and…”

He swallows his words. A pressure starts in his sinuses that warns Credence he’s going to sneeze, but he doesn’t. He blinks.

“Sorry,” he says. “I brought soup — Miss Queenie made it and —”

Credence sneezes.

“Excuse me,” he says.

To his complete horror, he feels something wet on the cloth of his underwear between his legs. He clenches his jaw and tries not to think about it. This has happened before — in fact, Credence finds his body often reacts in hideous and uncontrollable ways to being in the presence of Percival Graves.

Newt had explained that it was all natural, normal even. As he had instructed Credence on how to best handle his heat, he had even suggested that it would pass faster if Credence thought of an alpha. It had been very effective, though Credence grimaced to think of it now.

“Are you alright?” Mr. Graves asks. “You’re not sick are you?”

“Are you?” Credence asks. “Sir?”

“I am well enough,” he answers. “Incredibly surprised to see you. Here. In my home.”

Mr. Graves stops speaking and rubs his face again with that one hand. He grimaces slightly and Credence sees a flash of his tongue as he runs it over his teeth.

“I brought soup,” Credence repeats. He cannot tell if the wetness is getting worse or if it is only his embarrassment that makes it seem so. His face feels like it’s beginning to flush. He swallows.

“Thank you,” Mr. Graves says. “That was.”

He pauses and looks away from Credence.

“Very considerate,” he says. His shoulders shake just once.

“I don’t have a fever or the flu, if that’s what the Goldstein sisters think.”

Credence feels something relax at the back of his neck, some weight lifted off of his shoulders.

“But you’re unwell?” Credence asks.

“In a way,” Mr. Graves says. The corner of his mouth lifts, but then he glances at Credence again and lifts his hand to cover it.

“I think I need to sit down, Credence, I apologize,” he says.

“Please sit,” Credence says. He can feel his shoulders tense up again with worry.

“Shall I put this somewhere?” he asks.

Mr. Graves waves his hand. “Anywhere in the kitchen is fine.”

Credence hurries out of the way, but putting Mr. Graves out of his sight does not clear his mind of polluted thoughts. Somehow, it is even worse than yesterday — and that was simply torturous. Credence had hardly been able to focus on the words the man said to him, only the way that his lips and throat moved as he spoke. Mr. Graves always sits with his knees far apart and he gestures broadly with his hands when he spoke. What hands! So large and unmarked. The dark hair on his arms even creeps down beneath the cuffs of his shirt.

Credence can't even remember now what they spoke about. He had grown so uncontrollably aroused that he begged Mr. Graves to allow him to use his washroom. There, Credence had relieved himself of his erection faster than ever before in over two decades of life.

Thinking about that now makes Credence clutch the kitchen counter with both hands. His face burns with shame, but his cock grows thick between his legs.

He had been very wet afterwards, in Mr. Graves own bathroom, and he is getting wet now.

Ever since his ordeal months ago, Credence finds himself with two sorts of mess every time he touches himself to fruition.

A shudder runs through him from his arms to his knees. The flush of lust is followed by a rush of anger. He despises this body — its functions, its desires, its magic, none of it ever seems to be under his control.

Credence runs the cold water in the sink and splashes it against his hot face with both hands. That makes him feel better, if not in control.

Then he sneezes again. Credence rubs his nose, assuming that he got water up it somehow.

Still, he feels a bit better.

Then he returns to find Mr. Graves half-reclined on the chaise lounge in his parlor. Mr. Graves leans his head against one hand and a few of the buttons on his shirt have been opened. One of his slippers dangles half off his foot and Credence can see Mr. Graves’ bare ankle and the hair on his legs. It makes him shake.

“Mr. Graves,” Credence says, half horrified and half aroused.

“Credence,” Mr. Graves says, sitting up as graceful as a stretching tiger in a zoo.

“We’re friends, are we not?” Mr. Graves asks. “You really needn’t be so formal with me. I’m certainly not being formal with you.”

Credence doesn’t know what to say to that, so he says nothing.

“You can sit,” Mr. Graves says. “Unless. Do you want to go already?”

“No,” Credence says.

He drops himself into a nearby chair and Mr. Graves’ eyes follow him.

“Not at all, Mr. Graves,” he says. “I mean, Percival?”

The man was literally much more buttoned up yesterday. Credence tries to force himself to look at his face, but his eyes refuse to obey his will. He looks at the flesh that appears at the open collar of Mr. Graves’ — of _Percival_ ’s shirt.

Credence swallows a mouthful of saliva.

“I suppose I can tell you what’s the matter,” Percival says. “Since we’re friends. I trust you, Credence.”

He shouldn’t, Credence thinks.

“Thank you,” Credence says.

He finds himself leaning against the arm of the chair and clutching it with both hands. He cannot look away from Mr. Graves — no, from Percival. They’re friends, after all. He doesn’t want to be formal with Credence. He doesn’t want Credence to be formal with him. Credence’s fingers clench until his blunt fingernails dig into the varnish on the wood.

“I mean, I trust you at least to not pass this along to your guardian and her sister,” Percival says. “Or anyone.”

He leans against the back of the chaise and looks directly into Credence’s eyes.

“I’m not unwell at all,” he says. “I’m simply.”

Percival closes his eyes and touches his hand to his temple.

“Actually, this is rather embarrassing,” he says. “I had really thought after so many years that. Well, this year has been a constant lesson in how little control I really have, I suppose.”

Credence stops biting the insides of his cheeks to say, “I’m sorry.”

“If anyone could understand the feeling,” Percival says. “I believe it is you, Credence.”

From the weight of Percival’s voice, he intends this to be a serious conversation. Yet, Credence cannot stop thinking of other things. Does their informality extend to this level of flagrant disrespect?

“The truth is I’ve found myself in an unexpected season,” Percival says.

Credence blinks.

“Summer?” he asks.

Percival smiles at him, broad enough that Credence can see his white teeth. Credence’s fingernails scratch the furniture. His knuckles ache.

“No, no, I suppose I’m being too euphemistic,” Percival says. “I’ve been caught in a rut.”

Credence blinks again.

“Has anyone explained such things to you, Credence?” Percival asks. “That alphas go into ruts and omegas go into heats.”

“Yes,” Credence says.

“Well,” Percival says. “Then you know, I’m not unwell. I’m just not particularly comfortable and I feel a bit unprepared for this. Normally, I have scheduled my time off of work and made, well, certain appointments.”

“Appointments?” Credence asks. He has no practical knowledge of what these cycles are like for an alpha and his curiosity slips off his tongue before he can stop himself.

“There are certain services for… well, anyone really,” Percival says. “I prefer not to be alone during a rut and I’ve always found comfort in the discretion of professionals.”

Credence shifts in his seat, rocking his hips side to side. He wants to ask Percival about his rut, as he calls it. If he’s uncomfortable, well, Credence can understand that. He has never been so uncomfortable as he was during his most recent ordeal — or heat, he supposes.

But Newt had proved to be such a helpful friend and, if Percival counts Credence as a friend, perhaps Credence could make himself helpful too.

He wants Percival to be comfortable.

“I could stay with you,” Credence says. “If you don’t wish to be alone.”

Percival’s eyes widen a fraction, but then he shakes his head. Credence can only frown.

“Thank you for the offer,” Percival says. “But, Credence, I was talking about going to a brothel.”

He shrugs his shoulders. “I suppose if you wanted the experience. I mean, I don’t wish to offend you, Credence. You could join me if you desired.”

Credence lets Percival speak. He’s lost in his own thoughts, well, memories to be exact.

Among the whole collection of objects that Newt had allowed Credence to borrow while he suffered through his heat, there had been one meant to replicate the shape of an alpha male’s — well, Newt had called it a knot but it was nearly the size of Credence’s fist. He had been reluctant to even look at it when Newt had showed everything to him. But his body had wanted things that his mind found difficult to even believe. It had fit satisfyingly well at the peak of his heat.

When Credence stands up, his knees feel a bit watery. His erection is likely visible. Perhaps the edge of his jacket covers him, but Percival raises his eyes and follows Credence’s face with his gaze anyway. A drop of something rolls down the skin of Credence’s inner thigh under his clothing.

“You don’t need to visit a brothel,” Credence says.

Percival stares up at him in silence until Credence feels himself start to shake. He needs to sit down again or he’s likely to fall over. He stumbles into the space beside Percival on the chaise. Percival doesn’t stop him, but he leans carefully away and looks at Credence.

“I’m not a professional,” Credence says, “but I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“Credence,” Percival says.

Words keep coming out of him now that he’s started speaking, now that Percival has brought the topic up at all. “I’m not very experienced,” he admits. “But I practiced with a variety of… of things during my last heat. Mr. Scamander helped me, because we were going through the same ordeal.”

Credence looks at Percival’s throat and the open collar of his shirt as he speaks. He leans forward and Percival leans back inch by inch until he’s reclined against the back of the chaise lounge.

“You never mentioned any of this before,” Percival says.

“It’s a natural process,” Credence says, repeating Newt’s words to him.

“Yes,” Percival says. “It is.”

There is something about the quality of the skin at Percival’s neck that makes Credence want to press his whole face against it. He wants to sink his teeth in there. He wants more than that. He wants to know how close to reality all those objects made and bespelled to be like alphas are.

“I was embarrassed,” Credence says. “But Newt told me there’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“That’s true,” Percival says. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about at all, Credence.”

Credence licks his lips and feels his upper lip pulling up with a twitch. He licks his teeth.

“And neither do you,” Credence says. “Percival.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” Percival says. “I just. Well, I’ll admit to feeling a bit overwhelmed at the moment.”

“Oh,” Credence says. He forces himself to glance up at Percival’s face and he does look uncomfortable. His eyes are very open and his heavy brows have crept up toward his hairline.

Suddenly, Credence sits up and away — putting at least a foot of space between himself and Percival.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “That was not my intention.”

“I greatly appreciate your offer,” Percival says. “However, I wouldn’t want you to feel used or uncomfortable.”

“I want to be used,” Credence says.

“Mercy Lewis,” Percival says. “I… Are you truly Credence?”

His wand appears from the pocket of his smoking jacket, but nothing about Credence changes no matter what spells he casts. Credence scowls slightly. Percival looks distressed. There’s sweat on his forehead and along the length of his throat.

“I don’t understand,” Credence says.

He puts his hands over his lap, just as he did yesterday when he was terribly aroused in the presence of Percival Graves.

“I…” Percival says. He looks at his wand and then tucks it away again and stares at Credence.

“I tried to kiss you,” he says. “Weeks ago and you. I don’t understand either, Credence. What’s happening here?”

Credence’s face flushes as the memory floods back into his mind. He thinks often of that evening.

That night, when he spent all his evening hours with Percival, they had talked so much. Percival had moved closer and closer to him until their bodies were practically touching. His voice had rested in the shell of Credence’s ear. Their cheeks had brushed. Percival’s lips had touched the corner of his mouth.

And Credence had jumped away as though burned.

“I apologize for startling you,” Mr. Graves — no, no, _Percival_ had said.

That was the last he had said of the matter at all, though Credence thinks of it constantly. He could never be brave enough to ask for another chance. He had spent the night in the guest quarters of Percival’s expansive apartment and laid awake most of the night with his fingertips against his own cheek.

With the memory moving like a magical photograph inside Credence’s mind, he says, “I wanted you to kiss me. I want you to kiss me even now, Mr. Graves.”

He shakes his head. “Percival.”

His desires are terrible and all-consuming. He began to want this man before he had even met him and now, oh, now he is too good for all the things that Credence wants from him.

But he is still an alpha and Credence is still an omega. Their bodies have been shaped by God himself to fit together, haven’t they? Credence could carry Percival’s child. His body could be a vessel for Percival’s comfort. He wonders if he should say such things.

“I want to kiss you,” Percival says.

Credence doesn’t say anything at all. He lunges. He throws his body into Percival’s arms. His nose collides with Percival’s cheek. His open mouth pushes against Percival’s closed lips. Credence laps his tongue over the stubble on his chin like a street dog.

“Credence,” Percival says. He holds Credence with an arm against his back and one tucked under the curve of Credence’s skull. He kisses Credence’s lower lip softly. He kisses Credence with intent and experience. He is _kissing_ Credence. Credence opens his mouth and lets himself be kissed.

Percival pulls Credence’s lower lip into his mouth and teases it with his tongue until Credence feels nearly as aroused as he did when his last heat came upon him. He would swear it was back, but Newt had said a male omega rarely has more than one heat a year.

“Your lips taste exquisite,” Percival says, pulling away. He kisses the corner of Credence’s mouth then his cheek and his jaw. He presses his nose against Credence’s skin and breathes in deeply.

“And you smell even better,” he says. His fingers grip Credence by the back of his hair.

He kisses Credence’s throat until Credence cannot help but move his body to press it closer against Percival. His erection presses against Percival’s thigh in the most delicious way.

“I have been smelling you,” Percival says. “The hint of you. It’s everywhere in my apartment. I thought I was going mad when you arrived suddenly at my door.”

“I’m sorry,” Credence says.

“It’s nothing to apologize for,” Percival says. “Nothing at all.”

“Mr. Graves,” Credence says. “I mean, Percival, there’s something I should tell you.”

“Yes, Credence?” Percival says, without lifting his face from Credence’s throat.

“Yesterday when I visited you,” he says. “I was terribly distracted for the whole visit and I even — please forgive me, but I spilled my seed in your washroom.”

When Percival moves away, even slightly, Credence cannot help but flinch. He can accept whatever rebuke will come — or at least he tells himself that he can.

Up close, Credence can see the size of Percival’s pupils when he looks him in the eye. Shadows sit under his eyes. He looks paler from the sweat on his brow.

“I was aware,” he says, leaning up to kiss Credence’s mouth.

Credence jerks away at first, for only a second, only out of surprise, but Percival holds him still by the back of his head.

“Credence?” Percival asks, his voice full of concern.

Credence kisses Percival so hard it pushes him back against the chaise. His teeth click against Percival’s. He knows he does not have Percival’s finesse with kissing, but he cannot resist tasting the man’s mouth.

Percival pulls just once on the back of Credence’s hair, but it only causes Credence to move his hips against Percival’s thigh again. He has truly never been so aroused outside of his last heat. He thinks distantly about how he’ll need to wash these clothes as soon — and as thoroughly — as possible.

Then Percival moves his hand from Credence’s head to between their bodies. His knuckles push against Credence’s belly before Percival reaches between his own legs. The movement of his hand makes Credence suddenly aware of the size and shape of Percival’s erection. All this time kissing and being kissed, Credence has been pressed bodily against it. Now he would like to touch it, to see it, to taste it as he has Percival’s mouth.

He pulls away from the kiss and places both hands on Percival’s shoulders to hold him in place.

“Use me,” Credence says, voice cracking.

“Credence,” Percival says. “I have no desire to degrade you.”

Truly, Credence has no desire to be degraded. But how could it not be degrading? His very body has always felt like degradation. He would like to, at least, get some pleasure out of it.

“But it’s natural,” Credence says.

“Yes, it is,” Percival says.

“I greatly desire you, Percival,” Credence says. If his body hasn’t communicated that well enough, then he can brave enough to speak it.

“And I greatly desire you,” Percival says.

He shuts his eyes and Credence watches his face contort as though in pain. It only strengthens Credences desire to comfort him.

“But I’m not,” Percival says. “We’re not animals, Credence. I greatly desire you, but I am not — I’m not some slavering ghoul just because I’m an alpha.”

“I know that,” Credence says. Percival has always treated him with respect and consideration. Truly, it is no reflection on Percival Graves what Credence desires. He has always wanted unnatural things. Even though his magic and his omega body are now, so he’s told, _natural_ , it would be just so like Credence to still act and want the unnatural and terrible.

Pushing himself away from Percival feels like torment, but Credence does it. He puts physical space between his wanting body and Percival’s. He even looks away from the man’s dark eyes and the triangle of his skin that shows at his open collar.

“Credence,” Percival says. “I’m sorry.”

Credence cannot think of anything to say to that. He’s still so hot all over. His cock is still so hard and he is certain that he’s soaked through his underwear by now. He has that ache, like an itch, inside him that he had when he was in heat. He had it even when his heat had nothing pleasurable at all, when it was an ordeal of pain and hunger and doors locked from the outside. Will he ever be satisfied by his own fingers again? Even when using the objects that Newt had lent him, Credence thought about —

“Mr. Scamander told me that thinking about an alpha can sometimes ease the discomfort of a heat,” Credence says. “So I thought of you.”

Credence hears Percival sighing, but he refuses to look at the man.

“And did that ease your discomfort?” Percival asks.

“Yes,” Credence says.

A hand touches the back of Credence’s neck. He realizes that he’s sweating. The hand against him is too hot. His shoulders tense up towards his ears and his back bows.

“I’m glad,” Percival says. “I would want you to be comfortable.”

His hand moves away from Credence’s skin and is shortly replaced by his mouth. Percival’s tongue moves against the back of Credence’s neck above the collar of his shirt. It takes all of Credence’s power not to scream.

“Not because I am an alpha and you’re — are you an omega, then?” Percival asks.

“Yes,” Credence says. His voice squeezes out of his throat like something wretched.

“You didn’t know?”

“I thought you might be an alpha,” Percival says.

This leaves Credence confused. Is it not as painfully apparent to everyone around him what he is? Does Percival really think anyone would let an alpha live amongst two women and an omega for months?

“But you kissed me,” Credence says.

Percival pauses in kissing the sweat off of Credence’s neck to say, “Yes, because I am desperately fond of you, Credence. It is not a matter of alpha and omega, but of who you are.”

For a moment, Credence cannot breathe. When he finally inhales, his throat feels tight and his chest shakes.

“Please,” Credence says.

His skin feels so hot that there’s no reason for him to be shivering, but when Percival undoes his tie and begins to open the buttons of Credence’s collar he cannot help it.

“I want you to be comfortable,” Credence says. “I want to be the one who gives you comfort.”

Percival’s hands stroke the skin of his throat while he kisses the back of his neck. Credence can feel Percival’s breath in his hair.

“I want that as well,” Percival says, between kisses.

He kisses the space below Credence’s ear and the corner of his jaw. Credence wants their mouths to meet again, but he’s not sure if he should move at all.

“May I take you to bed?” Percival asks.

“Yes!” Credence says.

He swallows and tries to speak more softly, “Yes, please.”

Percival kisses his cheek and Credence turns his head so that he can kiss Percival’s mouth. There is salt from Credence’s skin on his lips and tongue, but Credence can still taste Percival as well. He licks the inside of Percival’s mouth and grabs at his clothes with both hands.

Percival takes him by the elbows and lifts them both off of the chaise lounge.

Suddenly standing and free to press as close as he wants, Credence wraps his arms around Percival’s neck and kisses him deeper. Percival kisses back with more patience and skill, trying to coax Credence’s tongue into doing more than simply pressing as deep into his mouth as it can. Credence presses their hips together and hopes that it feels as good for Percival as it does for him.

When Percival moves, Credence staggers along with him. He doesn’t know where he’s going and he can hardly see with his face pressed so close to Percival’s. But Percival helps guide him with a hand against the small of Credence’s back. Credence knows nothing except that he is being directed and turned somewhere. It doesn’t matter to him where.

The backs of Credence’s knees bump into something solid.

He pulls away from the kiss and looks around. He’s never been in Percival’s bedroom before.

He takes in the dark blue quilt against the bed and the tall posts that frame it. There’s a small desk and towering bureau. On the desk, a portrait of a young lady with her hair in tight curls rolls her eyes and steps out of the frame. Only after she’s gone does Credence realize the subject was a young Seraphina Picquery, and he’s glad she’s left the scene.

In another, smaller photo, someone covers their eyes before ducking under the frame. But the other figure in the photo watches wide-eyed and very still. It takes Credence a moment to recognize himself — it was a photo he took months ago with Tina. He never knew that Percival had a copy.

“One moment,” Percival says. “Why don’t you have a seat on the bed?”

Credence goes down hard, though he’s aching to take Percival with him. Once he’s sitting, it’s too great a temptation not to fall back against the soft quilt. Percival’s bed is, in a word, massive. If Credence thought that the guest quarters were sumptuous, he clearly had no idea how Percival kept the master chamber.

From the bed, he watches Percival take a small vial from his bedside table.

“What’s that?” Credence asks.

Percival looks at him and Credence sees his eyes moving up and down the length of Credence’s body, though he’s fully dressed.

“A necessity,” Percival says.

“Mr. Scamander told me that there are oils that can be used, but I didn’t use any with the objects he lent me,” Credence says.

He watches Percival open the vial and then pour it into his open mouth.

“There are such oils,” he says, after he’s swallowed. “But that was a contraceptive.”

“What’s that?” Credence asks.

“A very good idea,” Percival says. “I took one this morning, and I’d have half a mind to offer you one if I thought it would work on an omega.”

Credence frowns.

“It’s not bad,” Percival says. “It’s just a preventative measure, so I don’t sire a child every time I go into a rut.”

“Oh,” Credence says.

He chews on the inside of his lip for a moment. “But you could, if you wanted. With me.”

“Credence,” Percival says. “I don’t think this is a conversation I ought to have while I’m thinking about the most efficient way to get you out of your clothes.”

The confusion and half-disappointment lift from Credence’s thoughts. He yanks off his tie and begins to unbutton the rest of his shirt in earnest. But, of course, Percival makes quicker work of his clothing with magic. His jacket shimmies off his shoulders and his waistcoat slides open. His suspenders unbutton themselves and slither away like a pair of snakes tied together by their tails. His shoes unlace themselves and slip off. His pants follow. Even Credence’s socks and underwear come off at the snap of Percival’s fingers.

Credence pushes himself up onto his elbows and watches Percival look him over.

“A thing of beauty,” Percival says, before he goes to his knees. Credence sits up fully so that he can see Percival, still fully dressed, on the floor before him. He bows his head and takes hold of Credence’s ankle.

“You look so good to me,” Percival tells him. “You smell so good.”

Sweat presses Credence’s hair against his skin down the length of his shins. When he leans over slightly to watch Percival, the head of his cock touches his belly. He’s wet against the dark quilt, which hopefully won’t stain.

“I want to taste every inch of you,” Percival says.

He starts with Credence’s ankles, pressing his open mouth to the knob of Credence’s bones. He drags his tongue over Credence’s heel and up the arch of his foot. His noses presses between Credence’s long toes. Credence can see the darkness of his eyes when he looks up at him. It makes him feel wet and soft and open.

“Please,” Credence says, though he doesn’t know what he’s pleading for.

Percival’s tongue pushes hot and wet between his toes and he curls them. He’s never even imagined being touched like this. But Percival licks the sweat off the soles of his feet like an animal.

His nostrils flare when he presses his cheek against Credence’s calf. He holds Credence by the knees. He pushes his legs open.

Looking at Percival on his knees between Credence’s legs makes something inside him contract almost painfully. His back curves. He feels a rush of heat between his hipbones that makes him grip the sheets. He leans back slightly, not wanting to look away from Percival.

“I don’t know where I want to put my mouth first,” Percival says.

“Anywhere,” Credence says. He pushes his hips closer to the edge of the bed and spreads his legs further. Against his tailbone, the quilt is damp. Credence realizes he’s leaving a wet streak on the bed and his face flushes with embarrassment.

“And will you kiss me afterward?” Percival asks.

“After what?” Credence asks.

“After I suck your cock and put my tongue inside you for a taste,” Percival says.

Credence’s hips jerk forward. The head of his cock smacks against his belly and then it stands up stiff and tall. Percival looks right at it and his tongue peeks out between his lips.

“Yes,” Credence says. “Absolutely yes.”

Percival presses his face into the joint of Credence’s hip and thigh. His tongue presses against the tendon there, his mouth hot. He closes his eyes and Credence can feel him breathing in deep. He watches Percival’s shoulders shudder.

Credence wishes that Percival weren’t still dressed, but he doesn’t have the courage to ask for Percival to strip down for him to see his body. When Percival moves his head just slightly to the side and licks up the seam of skin beneath his balls, he doesn’t have the voice for it either. He makes some startled, strangled sound and clutches the quilt beneath him.

Percival’s tongue reaches further down, moving over Credence’s hole but not into it.

Credence inches closer to the edge of the bed. Percival pauses for a moment. His dark eyes glance up at Credence. When he moves his face, his hot mouth, away from Credence’s skin, it’s enough to make Credence whine low in the back of his throat. Percival fixes his grip on Credence’s legs, his fingers digging into Credence’s thighs. Then he pulls him forward until Credence goes down onto his back. His hips strain from the spread of his legs.

Percival presses his face between Credence’s wide-open legs. He licks the wetness off Credence’s thighs. His tongue moves up the cleft of Credence’s ass and over his hole. Credence feels heat, mostly, and the light pressure of Percival’s lips against his skin. He wants — oh, he wants Percival to press his tongue into him. He feels open and wet, something in him going soft and then tense and then soft again.

Credence’s left leg kicks out into the open air. His erect cock twitches with need. He takes hold of himself and another, much louder whine comes out of his open mouth.

For one blissful and beautiful moment, Credence works his fist over the head of his cock until it’s wet while Percival licks him again and again.

The sounds that comes out of Credence then — surely if anyone could hear, they would think he was being tortured. In a way, he feels tortured. He aches inside to be filled and while the heat of Percival’s mouth against his hole makes every nerve in Credence’s body sing, it does not fill him.

More jarring, however, is that Credence realizes how terrible he must sound to anyone who can hear him — including Percival Graves.

Credence clenches his jaw and slaps a hand over his mouth to stifle all his unnecessary noise.

Not a second later, Percival stops. He pulls away and pushes himself up enough that when Credence looks he can see the man wiping his mouth with one hand.

“What’s wrong?” Percival asks.

When Credence lifts his hand away, it shakes. “Nothing.”

His legs, also, are shaking.

“But you,” Percival begins to say. He blinks rapidly and stares at Credence.

“Do you not like it?”

Now Credence blinks back.

“Yes,” he says. His voice sounds thin and pathetic to his own ears.

“I like it a lot,” Credence says. “I want…”

He licks his lips.

“What?” Percival asks. His face is pale, but his lips and cheeks are so flushed. He looks fevered and stares at Credence in a way that both discomforts and excites. There’s some madness in that fever.

“Anything, Credence,” Percival says. “I would do anything for you. Anything you wish.”

Percival’s hands stroke his legs. His palms feel too hot against Credence’s skin. He has a tremor in his touch.

“Just please, if there’s something you don’t want,” Percival says. “I want to know that as well. I don’t — I want you to — please don’t stay quiet, please. I want to hear you, if you enjoy this as much as I do.”

“You enjoy this?” Credence asks. He cannot help himself. He has done nothing to pleasure Percival at all, merely lay on his back and been pleasured.

Percival grins at him until his teeth show.

“I enjoy it very much,” he says.

In full sight of Credence, Percival puts a hand between his legs and gropes himself through his clothing. For a moment, Credence can see the shape of his arousal, which the perfect fit of his dark clothes has disguised. But the fly of his trousers does not quite hide the size of it all — Credence sees that now that he knows what he’s looking for.

“I want to see you,” Credence says, suddenly.

“I was trying to hold back,” Percival says. “I’ve always found my partners are more accommodating if I’ve brought them to release once or twice, and it’s so easy to get carried away once all the clothes come off.”

“I don’t,” Credence stops speaking to swallow the spit collecting under his tongue. “Want you to hold back. I’ll be accommodating for you, Percival.”

Percival’s smile flinches and for a moment Credence see his gums above his teeth. Then Percival leans over the bed and Credence reaches up for him. Their mouths meet and Credence can taste something salty and bitter on Percival’s lips. He presses into the taste until Percival opens his mouth. It’s his own taste, he realizes, all over Percival’s tongue.

“I can be very accommodating,” Credence repeats when their mouths part.

“I believe you, Credence,” Percival says, “but I’d like to.”

He stops and touches Credence’s face with one hand. They are close enough that Credence’s naked skin presses against Percival’s fine clothes. He’s wet from the tip of his cock to the insides of his thighs and surely making all that soft wool filthy.

“I want to suck your cock,” Percival says.

Credence takes a few gulping breaths before he can even speak.

“I just want to see yours,” he says. “I mean your —”

His mouth pinches shut. He knows the words, really, for this. It’s not as though Percival Graves is the only alpha in New York City, but he might be the most cultured and restrained one. Is that why Credence desires him so much?

“I’ve never seen one,” he says. “An alpha’s.”

Something inside him pulls very tight and now the heat Credence feels seems to drip out of him. His throat convulses on a sound.

“I want to see you,” Credence begs. “All of you. Please, Percival.”

The way Percival leans over him, Credence can see his throat move when he swallows. He wants to press his face against that skin and feel it moving against his lips.

“Alright,” Percival says.

He pushes himself up and Credence tries to follow. He makes it up onto his elbows and nearly slips off the edge of the bed entirely. His toes touch the floor.

Before him, Percival Graves’ clothes peel off of his body like the petals of a rose. Fabric flows like water over his skin, revealing dark hair speckled with grey and pale skin smattered with such human details as freckles and scars. Credence’s lower lip trembles with the desire to kiss that flesh.

The buttons on his underwear slip open and Credence’ watches something within it become unlaced. He can see the shape, the very form of Percival’s cock concealed by fabric, but when he sees it fully —

“Fuck,” Credence murmurs.

He claps a hand over his mouth instantly.

Percival laughs and Credence watches his ribs and belly move with his amusement. His cock also bobs slightly. It’s brilliantly flushed with blood and looks heavy. Credence wants to put his hands on it, to know just how broad it is. He expects the thick lump of a knot already, but Percival’s cock is wide all the way down. It has a thin skin over the head that Credence’s does not. And there’s —

“May I touch yours?” Percival asks.

“Yes,” Credence says, still taking in the details.

There is —

He cannot believe what his own eyes see. Surely this is some deception? Some spell?

Percival wraps a hand around Credence’s erect cock and strokes him gently, with far more care than Credence uses on himself.

“Is that metal?” Credence asks.

“Yes,” Percival says. “It’s a ring.”

“Through your —” Credence’s throat goes tight. He could not say what he wants to say under normal circumstances. Now, Percival masturbates him with his right hand and he may as well be strangling the voice out of Credence with it.

“It helps me keep it out of the way,” Percival says. “Just string it up by the ring and it can’t ruin the lines of my suit.”

“Oh,” Credence says. It seems like rather an extreme step to take for fashion.

“I’ve been told it adds to the pleasure,” Percival says. “Especially for omegas.”

Credence swallows. He reaches with both hands and pulls Percival close to kiss him. Percival’s wrist becomes pinned between their bodies. His naked cock, metal ring and all, pushes against Credence’s left thigh.

“I want to touch you,” he says, between kisses. “Please.”

“And I want you in my mouth,” Percival says.

Credence shudders.

“I’m sure we can find a way to do this,” Percival says.

They find a way with Credence stretched out on the bed and Percival beside him. He lies on his side so that Credence can touch his bare thighs and his belly. He kisses his skin, easily, happily, while Percival licks the very tip of Credence’s erection again and again. The teasing sensation makes Credence’s cock jerk and twitch in Percival’s fist. Something inside him goes tense with every stroke of Percival’s tongue.

“Can I touch you anywhere?” Credence asks. He looks and only looks. Up close, he can see the veins along the shaft and swears that they pulse.

Percival kisses the end of Credence’s cock with an open mouth. “Absolutely anywhere.”

So Credence begins with the ring. It’s solid metal and it really does go through Percival’s flesh. Credence can’t even imagine how it must feel for Percival. Doesn’t it hurt? He touches it very gently, pressing a finger to the rounded ball. It rests nearly on the tip of Percival’s cock. At Credence’s touch, the whole ring moves slightly. The metal is as warm as Percival’s skin and a milky drop of fluid wells up and follows the ring as it moves. Credence startles.

Percival takes Credence’s cock between his lips at that same instant.

Credence chokes on the shout that wants to come out of his tightly clenched jaw. His ribs convulse as he tries to catch his breath. But Percival doesn’t pause. His hot mouth swallows up the end of Credence’s cock.

It seems like encouragement to Credence, whose hands shiver slightly. He slides the ring back and forth until fluid drips from Percival’s cock. The ball of the ring pushes slightly at the delicate skin of the head, which Credence is also afraid to touch. He doesn’t know how to touch Percival; his body seems too different from Credence’s own. Still, he wraps a hand around the thick shaft of Percival’s cock because he can. He wants to do it. When he strokes Percival, even gently, the skin pulls back and Credence can see the whole flushed head of it with that silver ring piercing through it.

Credence wonders if it would fit in his mouth, the way his own cock seems to so easily fit in Percival’s.

Maybe the thickness of it is why Percival seems unbothered by the size of Credence’s erection? He wonders this, reflecting on every awful thing he’s heard shouted or whispered about omega men. Newt may have spoken with authority and much of what he said feels true to Credence, but still…

Credence cups a hand against Percival testicles and finds them cooler than the heat of his cock. They move, adjusting in Credence’s hand, and the flushed skin feels tender to Credence’s touch.

Percival pulls off Credence’s cock with a wet pop of a sound. He hisses.

“Credence,” he says.

“I’m sorry,” Credence says. He takes his hand away and places it against Percival’s thigh instead. That should be safer.

“No, no,” Percival says. “That feels good — very good.”

Tentatively, Credence puts his hand back. He curves his fingers around the shape of Percival’s testicles until he lifts both against his palm, off of the sweat-sticky skin of Percival’s thigh. They’re much heavier than Credence expects.

“They’re not usually that, ah, big,” Percival says. “I swear, it’s the worst part of a rut.”

“Oh,” Credence says. His heart filling up with sympathy. He knows the aches and pains of a body moved by these strange cycles, their ebb and flow as inescapable as the tide.

Percival kissed him where he hurts the most, so now Credence turns onto his shoulder and leans toward Percival. He fits his face between Percival’s thighs and softly kisses the sensitive skin over one testicle and then the other.

“Stars above,” Percival says, his voice soft.

His fingers touch Credence’s hip.

“Would you turn over?” Percival asks.

Credence rolls his hips until his whole body is on its side. Percival’s hand slides between his legs. He kisses the head of Credence’s cock again.

“I’m going to put my fingers inside you,” Percival says. “If you don’t mind.”

“Please,” Credence says. He flicks the tip of his tongue against soft skin and curling hairs. He tastes Percival’s sweat. Percival’s cock rests against Credence’s throat. It could be touching his cheek if Credence moved even slightly.

Percival puts his mouth around Credence’s cock again, before he pushes Credence’s leg up toward his ribs. Credence bends easily for Percival, his hips thrusting toward him. Credence uses his free hand to hold his leg in place, his fingers against the fold of his knee.

Percival’s fingers rub against Credence’s thighs, then over his testicles and down between his legs. Everything is wet and the way Percival swallows down more and more of Credence’s cock only makes it wetter.

Fingers press into him and curl. There is an opening within Credence and, of course, Newt explained it all, but it feels to Credence as though it didn’t exist until that most recent heat. Then, something was opened inside of Credence. He hasn’t been the same since. He gave into sin, he thinks. He surrendered to his own weakness and it multiplied.

Now Percival’s fingers slide into that space, that place inside Credence that clenches and unclenches like a fist. It pulses like a heart. Credence’s thigh quivers in his own grasp. His toes curl.

Percival swallows until his nose nearly presses against the very base of Credence’s erection near his own testicles. It makes Credence whine at the back of his throat. He doesn’t dare move for fear of choking Percival. When Percival pulls away, he gasps for air. His fingers sink deeper into Credence, into the extra space within him.

“Are you in season?” Percival asks.

“What?” Credence asks. He tries to distract Percival with another kiss against his testicles.

“No,” Credence says. He’s not in heat, if that’s what Percival means.

“You feel,” Percival says. “I mean, I wouldn’t say that I’m an expert, but…”

“Mr. Scamander said that male omegas rarely go into heat more than once a year and I already —”

Percival pushes his fingers deep into Credence without any warning and Credence bites down sharply on another shout. Then Percival moves his fingers in such a way that Credence’s body spasms around them, trying to hold his hand still. There are two fingers inside him, Credence thinks, but maybe it’s three. He doesn’t even know. His body quakes with pleasure.

“Mr. Scamander’s own brother is an alpha who goes into a rut damn near every month,” Percival says. His voice sounds deeper.

“Perhaps you’re just as virile,” Percival says. “Certainly, if I hadn’t tasted you myself, if I couldn’t feel how open and wet you are right now, I’d say you look every damn inch like an alpha.”

“I’m not,” Credence says, feeling a spike of — not anger, precisely.

Or, yes, actually, it is anger. He knows he should be flattered that Percival thought he was an alpha and still wanted him, as unnatural as it would be for two alpha men to be together like this. He should be flattered that Percival thinks he looks like an alpha. Doesn’t every man wish he were an alpha?

Credence doesn’t.

“I’m an omega. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

His body squeezes tight around Percival’s fingers. It feels so good and something about the fevered edge of Credence’s anger makes it feel even better. He feels something crackling under his skin like firewood.

“You’re right, Credence, and I’m deeply grateful for it,” Percival says. “You have no idea. You — you’re amazing, Credence. I want…”

His mouth engulfs Credence’s cock suddenly, with a wet sound. Credence glances down and watches Percival’s throat move as he swallows Credence down. It makes Credence squeeze his eyes shut. His own face is still so close to Percival’s body that Percival’s erection taps gently against his jaw.

Percival pulls away again. His mouth is very wet with spit and his cheeks are flushed.

“Credence,” he says, his voice deeper still. “I’m sorry, but could you let me go? I’d like to focus on this.”

Credence blinks, then pulls his hand away from Percival’s testicles. Percival’s fingers slide out of Credence’s body — but only after Credence relaxes enough to allow him.

Percival moves quickly then, his cock bobbing as he gets onto his knees and then pushes Credence onto his back. Credence spreads his legs as wide as he can, hopeful that Percival will finally fit himself between them.

Instead, Percival kneels on the bed and bows his head between Credence’s legs. His fingers press back into Credence. This time Credence knows it’s three fingers that push into his hole and then find the second one within him, the one that aches and weeps and drives Credence mad with its needs.

Percival takes Credence’s cock into his mouth to its very root. He presses his nose deep into the dark curls between Credence’s legs and then dares to look up at Credence with his dark eyes.

A shout finally tears its way out of Credence’s throat and past his clenched teeth. He sounds like an animal.

When Percival pulls away he’s gasping for breath and his fingers dig into Credence’s insides in a way that makes him spasm. There’s so much spit on Percival’s mouth and his lips are flushed a brighter red even than the head of Credence’s cock. He takes a deep breath and then swallows Credence down again. Credence’s leg kicks out. His body jerks like a broken, uncontrollable thing.

Percival pulls away again and Credence reaches out and grabs him. His hands find Percival’s hair and his cheek and his ear, but never quite take hold. His nerves betray him. His muscles spasm.

Percival swallows Credence’s cock like it’s more vital than air.

The pleasure of that has no gentleness. Credence feels himself dripping down Percival’s fingers. He's a mess. He wants to scream.

Instead, he comes. He hears Percival swallowing and he cannot tell the wet sound of Percival’s mouth from the wet sounds of his own body. He's flushed all over and twitches like a dying thing.

When Percival takes his fingers out of Credence’s body, he proceeds to lick them while Credence watches.

“You're still hard,” Percival says, while Credence opens and closes his mouth like a fish tossed into a bucket. He gulps down air like he's suffocating.

Percival sits up and Credence watches his whole chest move as he pants for breath.

“I need you,” Credence says. He feels wretched enough that he thinks Percival is correct after all: this is a heat. It could be. It’s certainly an ordeal of some kind.

Credence tries to sit up and feels wetness gush out of him. He shudders with revulsion and desire in equal parts. His body and his inability to control it feel like debasement.

Percival leans over him and moves his hands over Credence’s ribs. His skin is slippery with sweat and Percival’s hands are wet with spit — or something else.

“You’re exquisite,” Percival says. He moves Credence’s body by suggestion, turning him and adjusting him until Credence’s head rests on the pillows. Fluids doubtlessly smear all over the quilt on the bed, but Percival turns it down by magic so that Credence’s fevered cheek rests on cool, clean-smelling fabric.

“Please,” Credence says.

If this is a heat, then he isn’t in control of himself. It’s hormones, isn’t it? And the way that Percival looks down at him, with his lips parted and his eyes so dark, that’s also simply the forces of nature at work. Something inside of Credence tenses and relaxes as steady as a pulse — or the tide.

Percival lies on top of him, then, his body slowly lowering until his hot skin covers Credence’s.

Credence puts his legs around Percival so he won’t dare try to pull away. Their mouths meet and Credence licks Percival’s chin, his lips, his teeth. There’s Credence’s own bitter taste everywhere. Credence feels like he’s sweeping it away with his tongue until he can taste Percival again.

With both hands, Percival caresses and holds Credence’s face. His hips move against Credence so that he can feel the heat and weight of his cock, but it’s not inside him yet.

Why does Percival withhold himself?

Does he want Credence to beg?

“Please,” Credence says against Percival’s mouth. His voice sits low in his throat like a growl.

Percival moves his kisses to Credence’s throat, teeth scraping over sweaty skin.

“Please,” Credence repeats. He grabs at Percival’s shoulders. The skin on his back is wet with sweat and Credence’s grip slides. His hands go over Percival’s ribs and squeeze between their bodies.

“Please,” Credence says for the fourth time. He takes hold of Percival’s heavy cock with both hands and moves it. It feels so completely different from all the objects Credence used before, so hot and real. This is the fantasy he would have conjured for himself if he’d dared — Percival on top of him and Credence using both hands to blindly move his erection into place.

The ring touches Credence’s hole from the outside and Credence shivers. The metal catches slightly on the very rim, where he’s wet and tender.

“Credence,” Percival says. “I fear we’re rushing this part.”

Were it not attached to Percival, Credence could have already pushed the thick head of his cock into him. Instead he feels as though he’s only rubbing it against himself. His forearms strain and his back aches from curving under the weight of Percival’s body.

“Please rush,” Credence says. “I badly need you to use me.”

Percival pushes himself up onto his elbows. His hair has fallen out of its tidy style and a few strands stick to his sweat-damp brow. His mouth remains wet and red, his eyes so dark. Credence never could have imagined Percival Graves looking so undone, but he delights in it. It seems only fair, Credence thinks.

“Yes,” Percival says, such a long moment after. He reaches down and puts his fingers over Credence’s. How many hands do they need for this?

The blunt head presses into Credence beginning with the ring. Credence feels it once at his entrance, which seems to easily stretch around Percival’s cock, and then again inside of him. The sensation makes the muscles between his shoulder blades spasm. He squeezes his thighs around Percival’s body. Finally, Credence relinquishes his grip and relaxes down onto the bed.

Inch by perfect inch, Percival’s cock sinks into it. It’s an easy fit. A sound rattles its way out of Credence’s throat and he can feel Percival’s hot breath against his mouth.

His hands free, Credence puts them in Percival’s hair and draws him into a kiss. Credence kisses to taste. Percival’s tongue is bitter and salty. He kisses Credence hard. He uses teeth and Credence bites at him in return.

Then, suddenly, Percival stops moving. He adjusts his weight on the bed. The edge of his thumb nearly touches Credence.

Maybe it’s just a reflex, or maybe it’s deliberate, but Credence doesn’t really think when he digs his heels into the back of Percival’s hips. Whatever impulse drives him, Credence gets what he wants. Percival’s elbow trembles a little. He makes a sound into Credence’s mouth. His fist meets Credence’s body — and then pulls away.

The second little kick is deliberate, and Percival makes the same sound.

He gasps for breath when he takes his lips from Credence’s. Then he groans again and the sound makes Credence tilt his hips upward. The motion is so smooth, eased by how greatly Credence desires this. He feels incredibly open, even empty. Percival fills him. They fit together as though they had been made to.

Credence pants a few times when Percival’s body comes to rest flush against his own. He feels overwhelmed by sensation.

He breathes in deeply through his nose and can smell the sweat on Percival’s body and something that might be sex itself.

“Credence,” Percival says.

“Yes?” Credence asks, when Percival stops and bows his head to Credence’s throat.

“May I move?” Percival asks.

What is the purpose of all this hesitation, Credence wonders. Is he supposed to make Percival beg for what they both want? Is this how things usually go between alphas and omegas?

Credence doesn’t care. He exhales hard through his nose, his nostrils flaring. He shakes his head slightly.

“You may,” he says, with perhaps more force than required.

Still, Percival moves very slowly. Credence swears he can feel that metal ring moving within, dragging against things inside his body at a pace that makes Credence want to claw at Percival’s back with both hands. He puts his arms around Percival and digs his fingers in.

“I was made to feel this,” Credence says.

Percival thrusts back into him, just as slowly, and Credence tilts his hips to meet him. Credence is grateful that once Percival has started to move — no matter how slowly — he does not pause even once. Credence breathes harder with every stroke. He shifts under Percival, trying to ask for more with his body if he cannot find the words for what he wants. He wants more.

“The way you fit,” Credence says. He whines softly. Percival bows his head to Credence’s shoulder and kisses him. He licks the sweat off Credence’s collarbones.

“You were made to be within me,” Credence says.

He’s panting now and he feels things move within, pulling and pulsing. He gets a shock of pleasure at having something so perfect within him to close his body around. Credence breathes through his mouth and feels like he can never quite get enough air. Sweat rolls down the back of his neck and soaks into the pillow under his head. His thighs shiver.

“You were made for me,” he says, delirious with pleasure.

Percival’s hips jerk suddenly and his cock buries deep into Credence’s body. He hears the wet sound of their bodies meeting. He feels the hair on Percival’s testicles against his tailbone.

Percival groans. Credence scratches at him with blunt fingernails. This is what he wants: more.

“Yes,” Percival says, his voice muffled against Credence’s neck. “Made for me.”

When Percival begins to move again, he goes faster and a bit rougher. Credence rewards him by stroking his back with both hands. He lets more words spill from his lips, when he can find the breath to speak.

“So good, Percival, it feels so good.”

When pleasure overwhelms him, Credence’s words become only soft sounds. His muscles tense. His face spasm. On top of him, Percival growls.

Spots of light swim in Credence’s vision. His chest spasms until he chokes. He pulls his legs tight around Percival until neither of them can move. Credence sobs.

Percival’s mouth finds his earlobe and kisses it. He makes soft noises, soothing sounds, but Credence cannot be soothed. He comes hard for the second time and spills his seed all over his belly and Percival’s. His legs shake. He goes so tight around Percival’s cock that they both groan.

“Keep moving,” Credence says, when he can finally catch his breath.

His cock is still hard between their bodies and it slides against Percival’s skin, which has been made very slick with Credence’s semen.

This time, he does not need to beg. Percival pulls back slightly and picks up a new pace, a bit slower than what made Credence fall apart just now. It takes him only a few minutes to grow frustrated by it, squeezing his thighs against Percival’s hips and scratching his back to encourage him.

“Percival,” Credence says, his voice squeezed into a whine.

For his trouble, Percival kisses him. It isn’t what Credence wants, but he cannot deny that he enjoys it. He kisses Percival back fiercely. His tongue presses against the back of Percival’s teeth. He tastes the very back of his throat. He sucks the breath from Percival’s lungs like some kind of nightmare.

When Percival tries to pull away, Credence clings to him. He leans up and what follows seems to be second nature. He pushes and Percival moves. They turn together on the broad expanse of Percival’s bed.

He rests here nearly every night, Credence thinks, under this quilt made wet and filthy with Credence’s fluids.

Percival’s hands against Credence’s face pull him away from the kiss.

“Credence,” he says.

The roughness of his voice on Credence’s name makes him shiver.

“What are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” Credence says.

He has some idea of what he’d like to do.

“Are you —” Percival stops and swallows. His tongue moves over his lips. Credence sits up slightly just to see him better. He stares at his mouth.

“Comfortable?” Percival asks.

“Oh yes,” Credence tells him. He levers himself up first on his elbows and then on his hands. His knees slide forward on the bed and his weight sinks down against Percival’s hips. Beneath him, Percival groans. He stares up at Credence with his mouth hanging open.

There’s a shift inside him when he sits up fully. Credence moves a hand to his belly and realizes that what he feels is the weight of Percival’s cock inside of him. He touches himself for a few seconds and breathes very carefully. Then he puts his hand on his cock and finds it almost too sensitive to touch. It’s very red, especially at the tip, and he feels as though his whole beating heart is within it. Clear fluid drips from the end and gets all over his hand.

“I’m enjoying myself more than I knew I could,” Credence says. He only stops for breath a few times.

“Good,” Percival says.

His lips are so red.

“I’m going to start moving,” Credence warns. This he knows how to do. When he was last in heat, he had found it much easier just to sit himself down on whatever object he wanted inside than try to move it with his hands. His hands always shook. His legs were a little steadier, at least until he reached his peak.

“Good,” Percival says again.

He does not move too much, at first, just rocks himself back and forth on Percival’s cock. It’s different from being alone in a small bed trying to fit something inside him. Here is Percival’s whole body spread out beneath him. Credence could touch him however he liked as he moves himself up and down just a little.

Credence moves a bit faster and reaches out with one hand. He presses his thumb against Percival’s lower lip. His hand is wet and Percival’s tongue reaches out to touch his thumb and fingers. He takes Credence’s thumb into his mouth and sucks on it until his cheeks hollow out.

For a moment, Credence pauses. He feels frozen by the force of his desires.

He pulls his hand away and sweeps it across his own belly, catching sweat and semen across his fingers. He presses his hand — large and scarred and hideous against Percival’s beauty — against that red mouth. Percival licks his hand like a dog might.

Credence moves again, the way he wants to. It is not slow or gentle. Under him, Percival groans. Credence’s hand over his mouth muffles the sound slightly, but Credence feels certain that he makes the man curse.

Perhaps it’s the sound of Percival’s voice smothered by Credence’s touch or it is the sweet sensation of that studded ring moving inside him, but Credence shivers and feels himself tense up. Percival shouts and his hips jerk up beneath Credence. He comes down on Percival hard, then, dropping his full weight onto the man.

Credence leans over him and moves faster. His erection slaps against his belly every time he moves and adds another jolt of pleasure to the delight of moving himself on top of Percival.

He treats Percival’s cock like one of Newt’s objects, pushing his body down against it as hard as he can and then quickly pulling back just for the sensation of something filling him. Percival’s cock fits him better than anything he has ever had inside him. Everything feels right.

Sweat runs down Credence’s face from his temple to his jaw and then down his neck. It drips onto Percival, who has Credence’s fingers in his mouth. Credence presses his tongue down and listens to grunts and groans.

Credence’s arms start to shake. The bed itself shakes when both of them move.

Everything feels too hot. Credence’s skin burns all over with blood and sweat runs down his back and his thighs. He’s so wet that he knows it’s dripping all over Percival from this position, down his cock and over his testicles. Credence can feel how wet Percival’s skin is beneath him and he knows it’s not all sweat. Sweat isn’t so sticky, it doesn’t cling to Credence’s skin like this.

Credence cannot speak for how his heart pounds. There’s nothing to drown out the wet sound of his body taking in Percival’s cock. Even Credence’s breathing seems obscene and too loud. Percival closes his eyes and his whole body arches beneath Credence’s, almost hard enough to disrupt Credence’s movements. But Credence has the physical advantage, he realizes. He can pin Percival down with his hips and his hands, the size of his body.

He just doesn’t want to. It feels exquisite to have Percival so unrestrained, so wild.

Percival reaches over his thigh and Credence can feel him adjusting his testicles. He groans. When Credence sinks down as low as he can, he feels Percival’s thumb against the cleft of his ass.

When Percival takes his hand off himself and touches Credence’s thigh, his hand is wet with Credence’s slick.

Credence’s vision darkens around the edges until he shuts his eyes. It heightens the pleasure. He feels everything so much more this way. Percival’s cock fills him up exactly and when his body clutches at that hot and solid thing within him, Credence shakes. He tips his head back and luxuriates in the intemperate pleasure.

His hips roll and thrust on top of Percival, almost as though he were the one fucking Percival.

The feeling last less than a minute before Percival reaches up and grabs Credence’s hips. He pulls him down and thrusts up into him. Credence puts a hand around Percival’s thick wrist and tries to pry him off so that he can move freely.

“What are you doing?” Credence grits out. His voice does not sound like his own.

“Darling,” Percival says.

“Credence,” he says.

“Percival,” Credence hisses.

He opens his eyes and for a moment all Credence sees is the fathomless black of his pupils.

Then Percival’s eyes shut again. He tips his head back and bares his throat. Percival’s body arches and shudders under him. Not once, but twice. Credence pushes as hard as he can, pressing Percival back down onto the bed.

He feels it then, and his eyes go wide. Credence breathes in deeply through his nose.

It fills him in a way that ought to be painful. It’s so large, certainly too large. But Credence feels things moving inside him to accommodate.

This is no play object, no spell or fake. Credence feels it pressing at everything inside of him, but he can feel it at the very edge of that open space within him. Percival’s cock has filled it so perfectly already and now this hard knot seals it inside him.

Credence opens his mouth but nothing comes out. His shoulders spasm. He sees stars swimming in his eyes, bright and perfect.

Percival’s hand moves to his back when Credence’s legs shiver and his left foot kicks out.

“Sorry,” Percival murmurs, sounding exhausted.

Pleasure tears through Credence’s body like teeth and claws. His shakes harder. His cock spills out against Percival’s belly once and then again and again and _again_. It’s hotter each time. Credence’s blood feels like it has turned into fire.

For a moment, he can’t even breathe.

When he can, he sobs. He gulps down air with an open mouth. He presses his nose against Percival’s cheek. He shakes.

“I’m so sorry, darling,” Percival says. “I know, I know.”

If he’s apologizing, Credence thinks, he cannot possibly know. But words are beyond him.

“Try not to move,” Percival tells him. “I don’t wish for this to hurt you. I shouldn’t have done it at all, I know.”

“No,” Credence says.

Percival goes quiet. His hand moves up Credence’s back to his neck. He caresses him softly. Credence tries to kiss his cheek and ends up licking it. He cannot explain why he does it, but the salt of Percival’s sweat is a delight. The stubble scratches his tongue. Little shivers run down Credence’s back at the sensation.

“Credence?” Percival asks.

He turns his face and Credence kisses him. He licks at Percival’s lips until he parts them. Then Credence licks the inside of his mouth until it is all he can taste or feel. He sighs into Percival’s open mouth.

“This is beyond any dream,” Credence says. And he dreams of Percival Graves more than he ought to. He has dreamed of him since before he had even really met him.

Percival’s thumb strokes a line up and down the length of Credence’s sweaty neck.

“Are you —,” he says, then, “You mean that?”

Credence turns his face away from the kiss and burrows against Percival’s shoulder even though he must hunch his back to do so.

“Yes,” he says, muffling the words against Percival’s skin.

Percival continues to pet Credence with his thumb. His arm rests across Credence’s back. When they breathe, Credence realizes he inhales in step with Percival.

“I admit there’s a dream-like quality to this for me as well,” Percival says. “But I never… I don’t know what to say.”

Credence doesn’t know what that means. He continues to hide against Percival’s shoulder.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he says.

“Then it’s going to be a very boring half-hour,” Percival says.

Credence lifts his head.

“Careful,” Percival says. “Please, Credence, don’t hurt yourself.”

“I won’t,” Credence says, because he doesn’t care if he does.

Percival looks very worried all the same. His eyebrows are doing something peculiar. Also, his hair is all stuck to his forehead now. There’s spit — and other things — drying around his mouth. He looks a mess, but Credence wants to kiss him again.

“Will it take that long?” Credence asks.

“Usually it’s less than that,” Percival says. “But… It’s often longer when I really enjoy myself.”

Credence blinks. “I don’t mind if it takes a while.”

“Just don’t move too much,” Percival says. “And I can be quiet if you’d prefer.”

Credence drapes himself over Percival and rests his cheek against the man’s brow. His breathing has fallen out of harmony with Percival’s, but that resolves with a sigh.

“I like the sound of your voice,” Credence says, after the silence has stretched forth for a long moment.

“I like yours as well,” Percival says. He moves his hand into Credence’s hair and combs his fingers through it.

“But it’s awful,” Credence says, “and I never have anything clever to say like you do.”

“Well then, Credence, you and I are simply going to have to disagree,” Percival says, so warmly that Credence almost laughs.

He’s very full, however, and laughing may prove to be a big uncomfortable.

“Are you comfortable?” Credence asks.

“Extremely,” Percival says. “I haven’t — Credence, please know that I have not felt so well in ages. That’s all your doing.”

He has doubts, but Credence cannot help smiling all the same.

Settling into the easy comfort of lying atop Percival and not moving at all, Credence feels at peace. His thoughts are very simple and quiet. His chest feels like it’s been filled with blooming flowers and soft petals. He feels as warm as a sunbeam everywhere that his skin touches Pericval’s. He’s very, very full.

But it’s quite comfortable.

Credence closes his eyes. He can smell Percival’s hair — the sweat muting the sharp smell of something else, whatever he uses to slick it back. Percival traces the length of his spine with one hand and rests his hand against the curve of Credence’s skull.

Between one breath and the next, Credence wonders if he’ll fall asleep like this.

Then he feels a small twinge of pain in his pelvis. His body tenses around the size of Percival within him. They both groan.

But Percival seems unbothered.

Credence tries to sit up as carefully as possible. Percival’s hand presses against the small of his back, causing another twinge.

“Please don’t move,” he says.

Reluctantly, Credence lies back down. He avoids looking at Percival’s face.

It’s not a problem, he tells himself. They must be a few minutes into the half-hour and it won’t be much longer. He has certainly waited longer in his life.

But pressure builds within him, right at the base of his half-softened cock. Credence takes slow and careful breaths. He does not move for fear of aggravating it, but there’s so much pressure inside hm already from the sheer size of Percival’s knot.

A small whine rattles the base of Credence’s throat.

“Credence?” Percival asks.

He feels heat gathering in his pelvis like a warning sign. It’s a very specific sort of heat — it can’t be anything else. He’s too embarrassed to say anything.

Percival pets his hair. Credence swallows and wills his body not to do this.

As his body so often does, it does not obey him.

Heat travels the length of his cock and though Credence squeezes every muscle, he feels a few drops of _something_ escape him.

“Percival,” he says, his voice tense as a spring.

“Yes?”

“I need to —” Credence begins to say.

He doesn’t even get to finish his sentence. He relaxes just a little and everything flows out, hot and wet. It doesn’t stop and Percival must feel it as well, pouring over both their bodies but mostly onto his.

Credence’s face burns from his hairline to the backs of his ears.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. “You told me not to move.”

His voice cracks. The heat of his blush pricks at the corners of his eyes.

“Credence,” Percival says. “It’s fine. You’re fine.”

He’s still petting Credence’s hair.

“No, it’s _not_ ,” Credence insists. How can Percival even say such things?

Credence expects the acrid, ammonia smell to hit his nose any second now.

He feels sick to his stomach with shame.

“It truly is,” Percival says. When he laughs slightly, Credence feels humiliated tears gathering in his eyes.

“Goodness knows, I’m going to have to use the toilet as soon as I can,” Percival says. “Certainly before we go to sleep.”

He touches the burning edge of Credence’s ear.

“I hope you’ll stay with me,” he says.

Credence swallows. “If you want me to.”

“I only want to if you want it,” Percival says. “Though, yes, I’d like to do all this again.”

The wetness between them starts to cool and Credence still can’t smell it. It feels, even, like there’s still some coming out of him — as hot as his insides. He moves just a little and the wetness sticks to his skin, which is odd to say the least.

“What,” Credence says, both at Percival’s comment but also the sensation.

“Oh,” Percival says. “That’s not —”

Credence sits up slightly and they look at each other.

Percival moves his hand from Credence’s back to the space between their bodies. His fingers sweep through the wetness and his knuckles brush Credence’s belly. Whatever the liquid is, it sticks to Percival’s fingers like saliva. Percival spreads them for Credence to see the way the liquid forms a thread between two of his knuckles.

“This is new for me,” he says.

Then, to Credence’s total horror, he puts his wet fingers in his mouth.

“No!” Credence almost shouts.

But Percival has a considering expression on his face. He keeps his fingers in his mouth for a long moment.

“Well, it tastes like you,” he says when he finally removes them.

“What?” Credence asks.

“Not quite bitter enough to be semen, but it’s certainly not urine — if you thought it was,” Percival says. “Not that I would have cared, Credence. We have the luxury of magic. There’s no need for a mess unless one is wanted.”

Credence blinks. He lifts a hand and rubs his eyes.

“I don’t understand,” he says.

“I don’t need to lie in a bed covered in your semen and smelling your slick everywhere,” Percival says. “I could snap my fingers and it would all disappear by magic.”

“Oh,” Credence says.

“But I don’t want to,” Percival says.

“Oh,” Credence says, making a new sound of it. He’s never made a sound like this before.

“You see, Credence, I greatly desire you,” he says.

Credence presses his smile down hard against Percival’s mouth. His lips part and Credence licks into his mouth. He tastes nothing unusual himself. He licks and licks until he’s covered Percival’s chin and jaw with his tongue. He licks the drying sweat off his neck. He peppers kisses in between, trying to find a way to express his joy and desire.

“You said you’d like to do this again,” Credence says.

“I would like that very much,” Percival says. He’s smiling lightly when Credence stops covering his mouth and neck with saliva.

Credence feels overwhelmed with something that is neither desire nor disgust. To be frank, he doesn’t know what it is. His embarrassment seems to evaporate, but his face is still burning.

“I would be happy to have you within me all night,” Credence says. “I’m certain I could stay up until dawn if you want to make use of me.”

Percival’s eyes grow wide.

“Credence,” he says. “I appreciate the thought, but that may be overly enthusiastic for — for myself, at the least, but I wouldn’t want to leave you hurt in the morning either.”

“You won’t,” Credence says. He kisses Percival’s cheek.

“I think I would truly enjoy it,” he adds.

He rubs his nose against Percival’s face as he speaks. There is still so much wetness between their bodies, but if it does not bother Percival than Credence will not allow it to bother him either.

“During my last heat,” he says, “I stayed up all day and night with something inside of me. I even ate my meals like that — all filled up with one of Mr. Scamander’s objects.”

“Mercy Lewis,” Percival says. “Credence.”

Credence feels his mouth pull into a smile even if Percival cannot see his face when its pressed against his own.

“Alright,” he says, “I’ll do anything you want me to, but on one condition.”

Credence lifts his head and looks at Percival.

“What is it?” he asks.

Percival reaches up and places a finger over Credence’s lips. Credence opens his mouth to see if there remains a taste of himself on Percival’s skin.

“You know what,” Percival says. “Disregard all of that. There are no conditions for you, Credence. I’m yours for as long as I can perform.”

“Thank you,” Credence says, because there’s nothing more to say to an offer like that.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr @ [jeffgoldblumsmulletinthe90s](jeffgoldblumsmulletinthe90s.tumblr.com)
> 
> ETA: I know people re-read this, so if you want, I did a Director's Commentary on this fic [here](https://jeffgoldblumsmulletinthe90s.tumblr.com/post/166671344549/directors-commentary-theres-nothing-wrong-with).


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